The Lost Art of Conversation
by NoCapes
Summary: Silly short thing I wrote for Valentines Day. Spy has unrequited feelings for the enemy Engineer and takes dramatic measures. Loosely tied to my longer fic but doesn't really fit in continuity.


"This would work a lot better if they gave me decent materials" Engineer grumbled, "Smoother mills, the cam rotation would stick a bit less. Finer grade oils, they never send what I order. Gold wiring, would speed up the reaction time, or even Austrailium." he chuckled wistfully.

"Hudda," Pyro added dutifully at the pause.

"Not that RED _would. _But I've got some ideas."

"Hudda?"

The Texan wasn't sure if he was imagining the dubious tone in the response.

"So the ideas aren't _completely_ ironed out." he sheepishly admitted. "Though supposedly you can work _miracles_ with the stuff, resurrection machines that make the Respawn system look like a joke, programmable teleporters with multiple destination points, fusion powered cars. I even read in a journal recently that they managed to use Austrailium to make integrated circuits _the size of your hand_ capable of running programs with deductive reasoning!"

"Huuh." Pyro replied trying to sound impressed but failing.

"They don't even use vacuum tubes!" he paused to let this information sink in, "The possibilities are endless!" he insisted, not understanding how anyone would fail to find this technological advancement fascinating.

The masked maniac paused for a moment, presumably to think about the possibilities, and then finally replied; "Hudda."

The Texan looked up from his workbench with a puzzled frown. The firebug had been sitting quietly in the workshop for nearly an hour without setting anything on fire. Pyro was curled up in the old beat up arm chair in the corner of the room reading a comic book, peacefully. Pyro's previous record of not causing anything in this room to ignite was twenty minutes. He didn't hold it against him, it was like getting mad at a puppy for chewing your shoes. You just learned to put your good shoes out of reach and keep an eye on the shop rags and oil cans.

Odd as it was, the Texan decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. He was glad for someone to talk to even if Pyro was only half listening and didn't understand half of what he was saying. Sometimes he wondered if the firebug even understood half. The radio had been producing nothing but static lately and salvaging sentry parts was dull boring work after the second hour. Plus it was always nice to have an extra hand around if he needed it. Turning back to his workbench his gaze fell on his watch that he had set aside, was it that late already?

"'Hey Firebug" he called over to Pyro as he stood up from his stool with a stretch, "It's about supper-time, yah might wanna get cleaned up." Even after all this time he wasn't sure if Pyro cleaned up for meals - or even ate -but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

In response, Pyro slipped out of the chair quietly and began walking to the door. He stopped in the doorway and looked back over his shoulder inquiringly.

"I gotta put some'a this away. I'll be up in a few." Engineer assured him.

Satisfied, the firebug slipped out the door off to supper, or whatever errands Pyros did this time of evening.

There was no excuse for this, Spy told himself as he invisibly crept, up the basement steps from the workshop slipping off the mask. He had better things to do than hang around the Texan. He just couldn't think of anything at this moment. Contrary to all logic he had grown fond of the Engineer. More than fond, if he was being honest with himself, which he rarely was. He longed for the sound of the man's voice, his laugh, his lop sided smile. But their game had ended, and these days the only business he had face to face with the Texan was on the battlefield.

Engineer didn't trust him, and honestly couldn't. They were on opposite sides in a private war, he wouldn't trust himself either. It was pointless imagining if things could be otherwise. If the Texan even had a preference for men or if suddenly they were on the same side, nothing would change. Even off the battlefield, off the clock as it were, the man was apprehensive around him. Constantly asking questions, wanting reasons for any scrap of kindness, second guessing every action, every word. When the man relaxed around him even the slightest, the Frenchman could still see the expectation of a knife in his eyes. He would be deluding himself if he thought that would ever fade.

Wearing the mask, gave him what he could never hope to achieve otherwise; the man treating him as a friend. For his friends, the Texan had a patient easy going nature and a beaming smile. To see the man smile or hear him laugh was enough reward for the risk or embarrassment of this charade.

The sun was setting, soaking the base and all around in it a red light. The Texan strode across the courtyard his gear slung on his shoulder. The skirmish was over and now he could take his equipment back to his workshop to repair so it could be wrecked again the next day. The things he did for a paycheck.

He froze, when he noticed he was hearing another pair of footsteps behind him. Turning over his shoulder, he saw Pyro walking up to him, waving a greeting.

"Hey there, Firebug." he smiled, the firebug mumbled a reply he couldn't quite make out. "It's been a helluva day hasn't it?" He received a vigorous nod in response.

He walked down the basement steps into the cool dim of the basement, Pyro trailing after him. "Glad it's over, I thought that damn Scot was never going to run out of bombs, kept throwin' them at my head." he grumbled, making his way to the door, covered as usual in various warning signs: no smoking, no flames, no target practice. "I'll probably need to send the order in for more hard hats at the rate he likes to blow them up."

The heavy gearbox thumped down on the ground as he fumbled in his pocket for the keys. He opened the door, letting Pyro step in first as he picked up the box. The firebug switched on the light and shuffled out of the way. The Texan gladly walked in lifting his equipment onto the workbench, next to a box wrapped in brown paper. With a quiet chuckle the Texan looked at the parcel, he'd almost forgotten he still needed to send this off.

"Hey Pyro," he looked up to the masked figure who was watching him curiously, "You want to skip dinner, we go into town? I need to send this off so it gets in on time. We can get burgers or somethin'." His mind briefly tried to picture Pyro eating a burger and failed. "Or not." he added hastily.

The firebug quietly stood there, as if weighing the situation. Then to Engineer's surprise Pyro shook his head.

"Ya sure?" he asked, he'd never known Pyro to turn down a trip to town or a car ride. There was an emphatic nod. "Well if yer sure, I guess I'll go by myself then." He looked down at the box in his hand "The fourteenth is tomorrow right?" he asked quietly.

Restless and bored Spy crept down the enemy barracks corridor. It was late, but he wasn't quite in the mood to go back to his own base and sleep. So he invisibly slunk, listening to the night sounds filtered through thin shoddy walls confident he was the only one awake at this hour. The odd cartoonish whistle of the Soldier's snoring, the mumbling of the drunken Scots man, the occasional creak of bed springs in the Russian's room. He passed the Engineer's room expecting to hear the man's soft snoring, he was usually asleep by this time of night. Instead, he heard nothing.

He scrutinized the lock for a moment before pulling the picks out of his pocket and making short work of the lock. He opened the door a crack and found nothing but empty stillness. Spy shut the door with a faint click of the lock tumblers snapped back into place. The man might be in his workshop, unless he had ended up in a mood and taken a late night drive.

Curious, he made his way out of the barracks and down the basement steps. The workshop light was on but there was no sound as he pressed his ear to the door. Silently, he tested the doorknob and found that the Texan had forgotten to latch the deadbolts. Carefully he turned the knob and opened the door a crack, it was silent except for the hum of the sentry. Taking the risk he peered around the door and saw the Engineer slumped over a technical drawing, pencil stub in hand. The Frenchman shook his head and tsked to himself, the man couldn't even make it to his arm chair before dozing off. That could hardly be comfortable or good for his back.

With a sigh, he turned to leave in case the cowboy woke up. He froze when he heard the man murmur. When he glanced over his shoulder he noticed the Texan shivering. Spy glanced around the room and spotted the ratty blanket on the arm chair. Stepping around the sleeping Texan he picked up the blanket, it was little more than a rag and smelled of moth balls but it would do he supposed. Delicately he draped it around the man who slept on oblivious. After a moment's hesitation he took the pencil out of the Texan's hand and set it aside. "Bene nuit, Monseiur" he whispered softly in Engineer's ear. Daring to leave no other trace of his presence Spy slipped out the workshop door and back into the dark.

Spy strolled up the stairs and into the BLU barracks, it was late and his teammates were in their rooms either asleep or almost. He preferred it this way, without having to deal with the bustle and noise and bother of everyone. He worked with them because they were his teammates, it didn't mean he had to like all of them. He walked to the end of the hall, tuning out the snores and grunts of everyone, too tired to care. When he got to his door he pulled his keys out of his pocket and paused when his gaze fell upon a package on the floor.

He frowned carefully picking it up, normally he didn't receive mail on base. Whatever personal correspondence he had or items he'd sent out for, he arranged to have sent to a post office box under an alias. Only BLU sent mail to him on base, rare as that was. Reading the label he froze. There was no return address but he recognized the handwriting. It was the RED Engineer's. He stared, wondering if he was imagining it. It was late and he was exhausted, the man had no reason to send him anything. He was surely imaging this. But the label remained unchanged.

Tucking the box under his arm he quickly opened the door to his room, stepped over the optic beam, flicked on the light, slid a picture on the wall aside and hit a button turning off the alarm. The door shut quietly behind him and he dead bolted it. Now that he was alone and secure Spy could get a proper look at the parcel. He turned the box over in his hands hearing the contents thunk against the sides. It looked normal enough. Plain brown paper, normal ink on the label, ordinary packing tape. Nothing interesting about it. Except who it was from.

He held it up to his ear. Nothing was ticking, it was room temperature. Perhaps this wasn't a trick he dared to hope. He set the box on his desk and after a moment's hesitation cut through the paper and tape. As he opened the lid - he leaned back slightly expecting the contents to explode. But nothing happened. Cautiously he peered inside the box and gingerly pulled out a… maintenance manual for a Vespa, and a bottle of motor oil. Underneath that was a small pouch, which he opened to reveal - some tools. Practical items he noted with a smile, he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. If he had any doubts who had sent this to him they were gone now.

In the bottom of the box he found a small keychain with a metal charm on it shaped like a scooter, and a note. Spy laughed as he read in the cowboy's neat script the words: "Change your oil."


End file.
